Ramblings Of An Acrobat
by Stevie19
Summary: A crash that rendered Dick Grayson useless, AU.
1. Chapter 1

**So this is just a little something I wrote last night. It was intended to be a reverse!batfam fic, but I just have to many of them floating around. Little bit of Dick x Babs (or Dibs, whatever), and some OOCness. Rated for some graphic images, but none too bad.**

* * *

Dick cracked against the chocolate, feeling it's chocolate-y goodness spread through his mouth like a warm, delicious fire. He loved chocolate.

A knock on the door cruelly ripped Dick from his own little Heaven. He swallowed the chocolate, hiding the wrapper in his binder. He'd have to find a better place later, but it would do(for now). Dick opened the door, scowling.

Little Timmy stood there, big eyes brimming to the top with innocence Dick didn't even know a child hero could have-much less in Gotham. But he knew that the sparkling innocence was all a fake Tim. It would all be back to normal any minute now.

"What is it?" Dick snapped, not exactly looking at the younger boy so he didn't feel the pang when he flinched.

"Alfwed said tonight'za move night and that I had to go.. _wetweive_ you." Little Tim said. That lisp was just _so_ innocent. Dick almost wished it was real.

"Tell Alfred I'm not coming if I don't get to pick." Dick said, about to close the door when Timmy stopped him.

"Wait!" Dick did, freezing in place just like he had when... _no, no, no, don't think about it._ "Pwease, Dickie? For me? For us, as a family?"

Way to go Tim-bird. Playing his weaknesses. Just like the real Tim would. Dick sighed. "Oh, alright."

Timmy cheered, and Dick followed him downstairs.

They all sat there, a family. Bruce and Selina sat intertwined, gazing lovingly into eachother's eyes. Dick saw the flash of two rings and almost felt sick. Jason sat next to Bruce, smiling with protected innocence and lovable mischief at the tender age of ten. Damian was sitting on Bruce's lap, a baby at barely three years old, making adorable baby sounds. Even Barbra and her family was there, sitting on a separate couch. The commish's hand was locked with his wife's, and they smiled. Barbra waved at him, bringing the spotlight to Dick.

"Hey, Dick!" Bruce said. "Ready to watch a movie?"

That was it. Pure joy. No alternative motive. How sweet. How nice. How unrealistic. But Dick only smiled his artificial smile, as fake as the faces in front of him, and said, "Sure."

The popcorn was brought out by Alfred, who smiled kindly at Dick, and was buttery and salty and delicious. It melted in Dick's mouth, almost making him moan in pleasure.

As the credits started rolling, Dick decided that living a petty lie was as good-if not better-than living a harsh and painful truth.

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 **.**

 **.**

Cerulean blue eyes slid open. White ceiling. That's all they saw. A boring white ceiling. With three hundred and sixty titles on it. I would know. I've counted before.

The next sense to come back is sound. The shrill beeping off a heart monitor. It just wouldn't stop. Beep beep beep beep. Almost masked the sound of heavy, comforting breathing. Almost. It meant that somebody was in the room with me. Once upon a time, I might've cared. Now-not so much.

Then came feeling. The hard restraints cutting into his skin, almost breaking through the delicate flesh. The would-be comfiness of the bed beneath me, rushing up to greet me. Pain. Oh, yes let's not forget pain. So important it lit up the night sky with it's neon letters and flashy lights. I've always been one for a show, anyway.

Smell was next. Smelled like a hospital room. Clean, disinfectants, clean, pills, clean, blood. Fresh. A musky scent of a cologne drifted next to him, suffocating him and washing away the cleanness like the ocean does to a beach.

Taste was last. Though there wasn't much to taste, really. Plaster, possibly.. Sandpaper, maybe. Blood? Most definitely.

But the thing that really made me know that it was real, all real, was the fact that I couldn't feel from the waist down. Yeah, I'm awake. I wished I wasn't. Maybe if I was still away, flown off to La La land deep into my subconscious I wouldn't have felt pain, but chocolate and buttery pop corn. Laughs and movie. Family around him.

But, no. I am awake and he was here. Might as well face it. _**Beep beep** ,_ said the heart monitor. My only friend. How sad. Well, the blood bags were his friends, too. Except they were helluva lot uglier than the Heart Monitor. And they didn't talk as much. _**Beep beep beep**_ , said Heart Monitor. Though, maybe I could use some peace and quiet for once. _**Beep**. **Beep**._

The breaths inhaled and snorted. I vaguely wondered who was in the room withme, and it wasn't like I could turn his head to see. But the musky cologne hinted at Bruce. Reality seemed so stark compared to my dream world.

Why did the ceiling have to be _white_? It was bright. I don't like bightness. I've grown up in the dark, in so many shadows. Of people. Of buildings(as in, literal shadows). Hide in the dark. Away from the spotlight. No light no light. Not a single shard of light should be directed my way, lest it pierce my soul and shatter through me like my bathroom mirror. Alfred had thrown a fit.

I wondered what kind of painkiller/drugs I am on.

I counted heartbeats. 64. A minute had passed. Y'know, the heart beats an average of 64 times a minute. That's how I told time,when there was no watch or clock in sight(or hearing) . Of course, it was sometimes inaccurate when it sped up or slowed down but that's how time worked. How it felt. So, more accurate than the actual time (or, at least, that's how it worked in my mind).

I remembered the last time my heart had sped up, pounding so quickly I thought it might overload and explode, splattering my guts out through my chest(thank god _that_ didn't happen… though I hoped I would've been alive for a little bit longer to see people's faces if it _did_ ). It was dark out, and we had been stupid. I would willingly admit that. We had been crossing the road-Jason, Wally, Roy(who said he was too old for Tricks and Treats and was just along so we didn't get in any trouble. Way to go, Roy. Maybe you should join the team just to make sure there's no _trouble_ there, either-or any _moles_ ) and I- when a car slammed, full force, into me(I was like a deer a deer more than a robin except for when I went flying, spinning out of control).Asphalt. Tires. Yells and screams and the musty smell of the woods and gasoline just _choking_ me as the car sped on by. Didn't care. That's how a lot of people are. Then there were sirens. Lots of sirens. And red. Red all over my blue hoodie, making purple. Tee hee. My head had hurt, and so had my spine, and all I really could remember were colors.

Blue. Black. Grey. Red, lots of it and different shades too. The disappearing smudge of brown and light yellow as Wally disappeared past him. Green. Bright, jarring yellow that hurt my eyes. Purple. White.

White. All I saw now was white, and very light blue of the hospital gowns and sheets. And the staff. There were three main people who took care of me. Margret, Madge and Rowan. Margaret liked to talk, chatting on more endlessly than the heart monitor like a little bird trilling it's song. Tweet tweet tweet(I vaguely wondered if she used Twitter obsessively*). Madge was kind, and sometimes snuck him little bits of candy. She was very nice, if a bit too professional. Rowan was silent. Period. Hee hee.

Whatever painkiller I am on, it must've been strong.

There was some shuffling next to him, and the soft sounds of sleep stopped. Bruce must've woken up. I didn't move-as if I _could_ -as rustles of fabric slid through skin, indicating that Bruce was leaning forward. (or was it Bruce?)

"Oh, Dick," said a rough voice. Yeah, definitely Bruce. The sudden noise echoed around the room and I flinched. Or, I would've if he was allowed that room. "I'm so very, very sorry this had to happen to you. Damian misses you very much. I don't have the heart to tell him what really happened, and he...just wants you back soon. Jason feels guilty, and Tim...doesn't know what to think. We all miss you, Dick, and we need you. Please come back soon."

There was some more rustling of starched thin fabric against cut, weathered and thick flesh as Bruce moved. Something took my hand. His hand was rough, cut from working out so long and from long nights in Gotham. My callouses are from the trapeze, and very different from his. And Bruce's hand is so much bigger, so warm compared to my cold, dead one.

My first human contact since...I came here. Le gasp.

Bruce started humming. It was a familiar song , something I'd heard countless times when I was young, injured and bedridden. _You are my sunshine._ Some might think that Bruce's voice was rough and rusty, like a machine that desperately needs to be oiled. But no. It is beautiful, hitting the high and low notes with equal amount of emotion and...just pure amazing ness. _My only sunshine._ The same is to be said for when he laughs. I am a proud reason for that laugh. Well, me and my adopted brother. _You make me happy_ Y'know, when I first started out as Robin, people weren't happy. They said I was too young, a child soilder even. And so many other things they probably shouldn't have said in a child's presence. Protester indeed. And you're such a great role model, cusser, potty mouth, whatever. _When skies are grey_ But Robin stopped Batman from killing. Made him into a family guy. I'm proud to say that, as Robin. _You'll never know dear_ And that song has come to symbolize our relationship. To me, anyways. And maybe Bruce, too. It's hard to tell. _How much I love you._ And, it has also come to symbolize these circumstances. Think about it. _Please don't take my sunshine away._

Heartwarming performance, Bruce. I think I might cry. Or clap. If I could.

"Dick?" Bruce said in surprise. Another achievement:surprising the goddamn Batman. And, yes, I know that saying is overused. So is the achievement. "Are you crying?"

And so I was. Silently. Tears were forming in my tear ducts and sliding down my fresh cheeks. Which hurt. ...What? I said I might cry! Actually, I said I would. So don't act so surprised.

And, Bruce? You might want to rethink what you say to your not-quite-dead-but-almost technical son when he's first waking up.

"Here, have some water." Bruce said and I saw his sleeves briefly as he got a glass. Long. Black. Maybe he's wearing a suit, but why would he? He hates those things. Unless he came here straight from work, which explains his snoozing. Bruce is a little bit of a workaholic, in case you haven't noticed.

The cool, glassy glass was held against my lips. The water slid through my parted, chapped, gnawed and really broken lips, swirling down my throat in a welcome relief. At least the feeling of swallowing a section of a wall was gone. Mostly.

All too soon the glass was lifted away. I called out for more, but it didn't come out that way. More like "Mrr pliz wn mrr." Yeah, I sound like Frankenstien. Or a zombie. Concussions will sometimes do that to a person.

Bruce looked shocked(well, as much of him as I could see, but I could imagine his face as he said…)"They never mentioned you having any problems with your voice."

This is weird. Extremely weird. Bruce is not acting like Bruce, He's actually acting all concerned and all. When I'm _conscious/awake_ , too! I almost think this is a dream, but wait-

White ceiling? Check.

Immobilization? Check.

No feeling below the waist? Check.

Well, this isn't a dream. What's left of the hairs on my arm prick up when I feel Bruce is staring at me. Oh, awkward. But, hey, know what reminds me of awkward? Batman and Catwoman. Or, recently at least. (yeah this is just my brain's way of escaping reality. is it working?)

They've always had the hots for eachother. But then Bruce proposed and Selina declined and now… awkward. I hoped it would get better soon, and they'd be back to the chase, always flirting and me as a messenger boy(which got kind of annoying after a while but hey. they were in love. Or close enough, anyways).

That was last year.

Now, I don't really want Bruce to get married and stop paying attention to me and my brothers but- _ **Beep beep**_ , says Heart Monitor warningly. Oh, hey. Welcome back to Reality. Thanks Heart Monitor. Now excuse me while I unfriend you.

Oh, and hello pain and awkward staring. Hey, is that a crack in the perfect ceiling? Oh no! Better go fix it! …(nice try, brain) Well, Bruce is staring at me and I'm staring at the ceiling. Stare, stare, stare. That's all I ever do(which isn't true. I can still blink, y'know).

 _ **Beeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeep** ,_ says the heart monitor. I see a flash of green-so nice to see another color- and the pain builds up, blossoming into a wide and terrible flower. The only way to describe it is a thousand OWs all compacted and screamed as bloody murder. No, more. It hurts and Heart Monitor is working on it's _e_ s. However much painkillers I am on isn't enough.

 _ **Beeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeep.**_

But I don't cry out. I've never cried out, never screamed, since I was ten years old(Well, that I remember. Maybe I did during the Crash. I don't remember that, though, I'll have to ask Roy or something…) Oh, but it hurts. And I can practically _feel_ Bruce's panic as he fumbles about the room (sometime later I'll have to make a witty joke about Batman being clumsy. And panicking) And it's so terrible and fierce and sudden and…

 _ **Beeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeep**._

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"So, what did you think of it?" Tim asked as soon as the movie is over and their bowls of popcorn are just kernels now. It was good while it lasted, anyways.

"It was good," Dick says coldly. _It was great._ Because these aren't real Dick doesn't want to share any positive experience with them. More than he can help it, at least.

"I liked it," Jason announced, yawning. Dami was already asleep, drooling a little on Bruce's shirt. Selina had teased him for it. He laughed it off. They weren't even trying to seem real anymore…

"Alright, guys, bedtime!" Bruce announced, standing up and swinging Damian from side to side. "Thanks for coming, Jim." The only time he ever says that is when one of them is kidnapped. Or at a party/charity event, aka hours of doom.

"It was my pleasure." And looking into his eyes, Dick can tell it really was. smiles, and says something Dick didn't catch. Cuz Barbra pulls him close, and stands on her tiptoes to kiss his cheek. Dick blushes. Tim and Jason make kissy noises.

Dick wishes Real Barbra would feel this way towards him. He wishes Real Barbra would kiss me, or let him kiss her.

Fake Barbra smiles her fake smile and Dick stares right through it. His cheeks are ablaze. Somebody needs a fire hose to quench the fire.

The Gordons leave. Bruce and Selina take Damian up to bed, singing soft, duet lullabies together as they go.

"Carry me, Dick!" Timmy cries, big eyes pleading, and arms up in a CARRY ME gesture.

"No, carry me!" Jason protests. "You carried him last time!"

Dick stares at them both. Real Tim and Jay never fight over him like this. They'd never let him have the honor of such affection. But, moving on to more important matters. Who should he pick?

Dick ended up carrying both, though their unreal weights nearly topple him. They're swaying down the hallway, Tim shrieking in delight and Jason crowing to go faster. Something else blossoms up in him, something Dick hasn't felt since that one Halloween night. It is the opposite of the pain, but it has the same build up. It is happy, it is joy. Pure and innocent as these fake blues, fake kids on his back(but they feel and look so _real_ )

Dick laughs and he runs. His laughter joins theirs, and he can't quite remember why he is so sad or why this had all seem fake. But then he does remember, and it hits Dick like a ton of stops running, much to Fake Timmy and Fake Jason's disappointment.

He'll never, ever be able to run like this in real,life ever again. No more trapeze. No more Robin. No more...moving. Just poor little pitiful Dick Grayson moving about in his wheelchair.

There's a reason Dick likes these little fake worlds more than the real one, y'know.

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When I wake up again, there's quiet, friendly muzak dancing through the air. The kind Madge likes. I see a flash of light blue from my peripheral vision, and hear her clinking through the instruments. Unlike Bruce, she senses my awakening as soon as it happens. Must be a medial thing.

"Good morning, _mi pajarito_ ," Madge said, and the tinking increased. So it's morning.

"Gdd mrnin Mgge." I said. Well, I tried to say 'Good morning Madge' but it came out like that. Again, head injuries. I wondered what happened to Bruce.

 _ **Beep beep,**_ said Heart Monitor. I guess he was mad at me for unfriending him. Well, he started it. (what am I _doing_? making friends with inanimate objects? I must be crazier than the Joker)

"Your guardian was very worried," Madge said as she slipped a small bar of chocolate into my mouth. I smiled at her the best I could in grattitude, which still felt like my face was being stretched out unnaturally(Alfred has long since hammered not speaking with food in your mouth not my very being). "Don't give us a scare like that, okay?"

It wasn't really my fault. Stupid heart. Stupid Heart Monitor. And, most of all, stupid car. It should've seen us...well, okay, that was on me. But, still, it wasn't really my fault. I can't really control what my heart does. I kind of depend on it and it just let me down. ( _dear heart, please never do that again. love, Dick_ )

But I nodded the best I could because Madge is Madge and she just wants the best for me. So does Bruce. And everybody else(well, except for rich high society and criminals and bullies etc., but the points still stands). I could feel rather than see Madge's red lipsticked glow of a smile.

I bit down on the chocolate, and it cracked open, the flavor washing over my mouth like a delicious tidal wave. It was like Heaven in the midst of Hell.

Which is exactly what it was.

* * *

 **All you need to know about those wacky POVs: When he is dreaming, it's 3rd person POV and when he's awake, it's 1st person. I could continue this, I guess. This is kind of like a beggining chapter.**

 **Astrick=Twitter because of the tweets and the bird. Get it? ...oh, nevermind.**

 **Dick-Age 13**

 **Jason-Age 10**

 **Tim-Age 6**

 **Damian-Age 3**


	2. Chapter 2

I lay on the bed. I stared at the ceiling. I listen to Heart Monitor as it beep, beep, beeps it's (my) life out. The restraints hold me in place. The candy feels stale in my mouth. I never want another piece of chocolate in my life.( I never even got a full bag of Halloween candy. Guess this makes up for it.) I ramble on in on in my head because I've given up talking.

What else is new?

The pitter patter of rain against my invisible window cill. The lack of so many of my new friends. The stampede of footsteps that pound towards my door. Am I being attacked?

Oh, yes. Yes please. Put me out of my chocolate-induced, white, immobile misery.

The door swings open with a bang. I stare straight up. A shadow passes the room, no bigger than a ten year old. Jason, Jason. Mystery man found out. Jason, Jason. Were those your cries and screams I heard last Halloween? I'm sorry, sorry for doing that to you. I told you you shouldn't have come; I hope I never gave you any nightmares, I still have them of my parents

f

a

l

l

i

n

g

down, down, down all the way down until I could hear those fragile bones just CRACK and blood spill out. I hadn't even known that humans had that blood, did you Blood Bags? And the smell of the carnival, the music still blasting through the audience's gasp of horror (oh, but I thought we were in Gotham and that stuff happens all the time) and the smell of acid that hit me then, surronds me now and forever. I breath it as long as I remember. I want to forget; I want to always want to remember. Morals, morals, manners, manners, didn't your parents teach you better?

Beep beep. Thank you, Heart Monitor. I can always count on you to bring me out of my ramblings.

"Dick, Dick!"cries Jason. His voice is so full of life, I ache. I've missed him. All that time with Fake Jason never made up for this moment. "...Are you awake?"

He's so close. I hear tiny clip-clops of tiny feet after him. A shadow joins his. Tim. I make a nonverbal sound of..well, it just sounds like 'hm'.

"He's awake."Tim's small voice informs. The wind howls and the rain slashes at the invisible window, nearly masking his tiny voice. A tiny voice for a tiny child. The rain sounds like rocks, bombarding my haven and prison. Or is it hail instead of rain? I cannot tell.

"Dick! Dick! You're gonna be OK, because the doctors and stuff said that you can come back home!" Jason says.

I stare at the ceiling. Yeah, there's definitely a crack there. Silence. Are the waiting for a reaction from me? Me? I smile the best I can. It feels like molding silly putty. That is sufficient.

"I'll go get the wheelchair! C'mon, Tim." Jason says, and two pair of footsteps make their way up, quick in their excitement. Did they miss me that much? Aw, I'm warmed. But haven"t they visited before? As in, when I'm unconscious/sleeping or something. Or have they been kept away by Bruce in a fit overprotectiveness?

I'm guessing the latter.

Home is full of memories, some good, some bad. (the storm became worse, an army of hailstones- no doubt now- smashing against the roof in an angry attack) But most of them involve my legs; swinging from the chandelier. Tearing through the house in a game of tag with my brothers. Flying via gymnastics equipment. Running, running. Sliding down the banister (much to the disapproval of Alfred). So many things.

I don't think I could stand all those memories, knowing I'll never have the chance to do any of those things again.

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It's sometime later(I lost track of the heartbeats sometime after 1004) did Jason and Tim come back. A nurse I haven't seen before came with them, and so did Bruce. I turned my head a bit so I could look at them.

It's been such a long time since I've seen those faces. Bruce had shadowed, dark bags under his eyes and his eyes had a wild look to them. He's probably been staying up each and every night since Halloween, when the whole thing looked excited, no matter how much he tried to hide it, but a shadow of guilt dampened his features. I felt my heart twist. Tim, though, was just pure excited. He was practically bouncing.

He probably thought I'd recover within next week. How long had I been here, anyway?

The nurse's lips were pressed together disapprovingly. I was right;I am not considered ready to leave. But she wheeled the wheelchair right on up, and she and Bruce lifted me on to it.

Next thing I knew, the bed that had been my home for so long was gone and I was being wheeled out. Roll, roll, roll. Rolling Stones. That was my dad's favorite band.

The sunlight hurt my eyes so I closed them. Simple logic. But it was too late. I had already caught a glimpse of the blue sky;blue, blue, blue. A color I wanted so. So different from white, it was warm and comforting. Not at all like the white, or the sun for that matter.

It was hot out(wouldn't it have been November by now? Or was it December already?) and I hadn't been expecting that. It's usually grey in Gotham. (GG, heh) A blue sky is a special treat. But the sun isn't. I swear, most of the residents could be vampires for the amount we see the sun. Hot, hot, hot. Hot like the burning fire last time Bruce had tried to cook. Hot like Bialya, with the heat cracking my skin and my lips, I hadn't thought that your mouth could scratch for water like that. Hot, burning up. It's like I was melting, fire burning everywhere, smoke choking me. I couldn't see; all I could see was grey. Grey was all I ever saw.

And so I opened my eyes. The brightness really needed to be dialed down, but I could see. A warm, open blue sky. It was like a hug(he had nearly forgotten what those were like). A green bush here and there, and a red sign! Le gasp, he had nearly forgotten those colors existed! Though, honestly, he forgotten what the world outside his little hospital room had looked like. And, oh look! There, shimmering in the heat next to the sidewalk! Was that black?

And so it was. The polar opposite of white, and such a welcome sight. _The screech of a car as his neck just snapped back; like his parents death. They had put a black pin on that map, dreaded color, black pin of death. Exactly what happened. And now his blood was mixing with the asphalt, into an ugly color. It was dark out; dark enough so the driver couldn't see him. The snap,of dark chocolate, a thousand times over until he felt sick(so much like their bones). The shadows that surrounded his every move. His bare feet slapping against the asphalt, tears threatening to spill, as the townies called him names he would come so familiar with over the course of the next 4 years. And, course of impact, his neck had snapped back-snap snAp-and he had seen the inky black starless night, not even a moon to light their path. And he had screamed, yes, and so had Jason. They all had(though the others may deny it; he heard them, their panic, he was there)._ Or maybe not.

I closed my eyes again, and peeled my fingers off the armrests. The inky black vision was cuts by colorful lines and squiggles, dancing across my line of sight. It was like Ratatoulie.*

I feel strong hands lift me from my permanent seat, carrying me bridal style into the car. In usual circumanstances, I would've protested. Struggled. But these are not your usual circumstances.

So I keep my eyes closed and let myself be manhandled into the lush, luxury car. I don't know what type, nor do I especially care right now. I keep them closed while Tim's high pitched, youthful voice squeaks on and Jason's street tones join in the flurry. Even Bruce tries to keep the conversation going. I file it away for my usual wittiness and analyzation for later. Alfred's accent speaks of home, where so many people of so many backgrounds form to one big family, and I cannot help the huge, fat tears that slide down my wide open face.

Either nobody notices, or nobody cares, because nobody comments on them.

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So, upon returning what has come to be my 'home', there'll be lots of partying and stuff, right? Fun things to do, all the time every time. They'd all be so happy to see me.

Not.

The act lasts only a few days before they all leave me again. I'm all alone again, living my once worst fear. I'm used to it now, though. If I could reach a rock or something, I'd be pinging it off the walls. Ping, ping, ping. I could never stay still for very long. Let's go for a new record, shall we?

I can't help but miss Heart Monitor and that depressing, white room. There, I could wallow and sulk there and it'd be appropriate. Now, here, here is the place I'd always be welcomed, happy, with family. What a sick, ironic joke this is. It's bright and sunny, at least that's what it looks like through my window, and it's a little bit harder to sulk with that kind of light(which is what Bruce has a special, dark, gloomy, drippy cave downstairs for). At least, at the hospital, there was never any quiet. Here, it's always quiet. At first, I had taken the quiet as a challenge, to banish it from the house. But, I turned my back a day too long, and it filled every crack and corner of this giant house, even with three more kids living here. I'm back at the begining after four years of hard work. But, now, I say-why bother? It'll just be back when I go away again. And I don't want to be the one who spends his life keeping the evil at bay in it's never ending battle.

Call me selfish, call me lazy, but that won't change my mind. I just kind of want to lay here. Once in a while, i feel an urge to get up, do something. It's easy to push down, though, because I know I can't. The ghosts dance through the room, swinging from the ghostly bars, laughing. They run and dance and play all day long, asking me to join in. I hate them.

In the hospital, I used to dream of Alfred's food. It was so much better. But, now, I can't bring myself to take a bite of it. Like, right now, a plate of spahgetti sits on my desk, it's steam curling in the sunlight. It looks good, smells good, and made especially for me. I can't bring myself to take a bite, and can't bring myself to tell Alfred that, either. Next to it, sit three brightly colored pills. For three dark problems.I'm supposed to take them after every meal(too bad I don't have any). I have more than three problems, though, and these pills are for my problems.

Oh, doctor, doctor! I have another problem, stick it with a prescription and stuff it in the bottle! Screw it on tight, and have it after every meal. My feelings are all bottled up, I just want to open the lid, but only on Thursdays and Fridays stamped with the doctor's seal.

That's a telltale sign I'm bored, on pain-meds and in pain that contradicts the pain-meds.

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Lately, I've taken to just lying on my bed(what else is new?) and closing my eyes. I'm not really asleep, but I just don't want to stare at the ceiling anymore. Yeah, yeah, once upon a time I would've just moved. Once upon a time, I had the use of my legs. When I close my eyes, it's my non-colored safe haven, just lying there in some warm place and numb. As long as Memories don't invade my perfect world, I'll be fine. Sometimes I hear things from the outside world, but I'm careful to steer away from that. And sometimes I just like to listen. I'm their favorite subject, it seems.

"Is he not getting any better, Master Bruce?" The crisp, accented voice of Alfred asked. Somewhere far off I wonder how long it's been since I said a word, and wonder why I used to talk so much. Make so many jokes,laugh, smile even. Seems pretty pointless now.

Bruce sighed, somewhere to my...well, somewhere outside my perfect world. Possibly to my left. "It doesn't look like it. In fact, it seems as though he's getting worse." That's a matter of opinion. If anything, I'd almost say living inside my head is better than living out there. "I really though bringing him home was a good idea..."

"We mustn't get discouraged, Master Bruce. After all, an energetic, acrobatic young boy like him must take the loss of his legs very hard." Alfred said. You have no idea.

Bruce said nothing, and I knew that meant that he was brewing a very big idea that Alfred would most defineitly disapprove of. This was the case of the Noodle Incident, and other times so much like it... Somehow we all survived.

Well, almost.

"I'm going out, Alfred." Bruce said, and I heard the scraping of the chair as he stood to leave. So it's night out then. Hey, come to think of it, Jason hasn't had any nightmares or, at least, none I've heard of. So it looks like he wasn't upset as I though he was, and just doesn't care as much either. Is it bad to wish he was just a little upset about that whole experience afterwards?

"Try not to hurt yourself too much, Master Bruce." Alfred says, and there might've been more afterwards that I didn't hear. But, hey, perfect world was calling.

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We now interrupt your regularly scheduled show of Me Just Lying there with a knock at the door. Dick stands up, opening the door and peeking out. Little Timmy and Jaybird stand there, both grinning like loons, with Dami on the older's back. Dick smiles with them, and opens the door just a little bit wider.

He's missed these guys.

* * *

 **More action will come soon, I promise.**

 **Asterix=One, I cannot spell that. Secondly, you know the scene in the start of the movie where he's tasting the food and the color things/shapes/color that tell the taste. That.**

 **Hope you enjoyed.**


	3. Dick versus Wheelchair

My perfect little world ended with the ice bucket challenge.

Literally. A bucket of ice splashed over my head, by none other than yours truly… "Jason!" I scowled, sitting upright in bed. Imagine my surprise when I found that I could talk! It had seemed so pointless lately...and I even forgot* that I couldn't, not without it coming out jumbled and weird. Apperantly I recovered while in my Perfect World. Looks like it really is perfect. Said ten year old grinned, and held up the still half-full ice bucket. I shook my head like a wet dog, making sure he got some of the spray. Cubes of ice still dotted the sheets around me, and I was COLD, COLD, COLD! I shivered, still only being in… ah, something not very thick. I'm not really sure what I was wearing, nor did I care. Just that it was sopping wet. And cold. Very cold.

"Geez, Dick, you're getting me all wet, too!" He cried, jumping back and, coincidentally(and somewhat ironically), splashing the contents of the ice bucket onto his shirt(to which I registered the color red). I smirked, snuggling back down into my (wet, cold) covers. "Serves you right." I muttered.

Go back to your perfect little world. Everything will be alright there, you don't have to worry about bratty ten year olds or the rest of the world. Just the blankness, and Not You, just existing. Not really mattering, just coexisting and floating there. Peace. Tranquility. Stuff like that, forever. Ignore the world, ignore it's problems, and you'll be juuust fine. Numb, yes, but fine. Who needs silly stuff like emotions, anyway? It clouds your judgement, and makes you do stupid things. My brain said.

But I had gotten a slap in the face from reality, and it felt real and it felt good(though, somewhat cold). It was colorful, full of life and adventure. Once, I got a taste, I just wanted more. It was kind of like an addiction, Real Life, because, once I got a taste for it, I just had to come back for more. And more. And more… It tells me I want it, even if I really don't, and it makes me happy. Thanks,Real Life, for your happiness in tough times like these. Now, please, go away.

But I was already getting up. (Noooo, arms, don't betray meeee!)

As a bucket full of ice and ice water slammed down on me like one of those buckets at Water Parks. Huh. Apperantly "Jason!" hadn't run out of that, after all. Cold. Cold, cold, cold! Got a blast from over here!

"What?" He smirks, mirroing me, no doubt. "Don't think you can escape me that easily, do you?"

Yes, but reality is much harder. "I was sitting up anyway."

"Sure, right." Jason puts down the Bucket of Icy Doom next to the bed. "And you say Bruce's brooding is heavy duty!"

I open my mouth to retort, but then remember...oh yeah. I'm not allowed to reconnect myself with these people. They left me, all alone, and I left them, sitting next to the hospital bed and realizing after five minutes of delay that it's the Heart Monitor that's doing that shrill beeping. I'll only get separated from them, torn away painfully, complete with screams of agony and ripping sounds. Like paper. not to get reattached. Leave the tape in the drawer, please.

So I flop back down onto my bed, glare at the multicolored ceiling as though it is it's fault I'm (we're) in this mess and mumble, "Not brooding." I could be worse things than a liar, and I already am.

"Uh huh." Jason says disbelievingly. "You've been coma-ing for almost the entire month now, you need to get out of bed."

 _Almost the entire month now?_ "What day is it?" I it's important, and maybe it is. Now. Yesterday, I couldn't have cared for it, having conviniently forgotten about days, hours, minutes, seconds, the very meaning of time and just existed. Oh, and now I'm tempted again… Nope, I tell myself, Just give it a shot. If you want to go away where worries don't exist, you can do so at anytime. But for now...just try.

"Tuesday." Was Jason's answer. How very descriptive. At my raised eyebrow, he huffs. "The 24th. Of November. Don't expect me to go on about the f-freakin' time, though, cuz you'll be sorely disappointed!"

But that was enough for me. Last I had checked, it was Halloween, and now I just skip over to Thanksgiving?! The next time I wake up, will it be Christmas day? I make a mental note not to fall asleep anytime soon. There's nothing worse than being sad on Christmas(okay, so maybe there is, but that would be exceptionally bad). I push myself up, catching sight of a photograph sitting on my shelf. How long has that been there?

I dunno how long there's that silence again, but Jason is the one who breaks it this time. "Alright, bub, into the chair. You're going out of this room today, no matter what."

I turn my evil RobinGlare to the despicable object sitting at the end of my bed, just sitting there, waiting to pounce. Getting in it would be admitting defeat. And that is something that'll never happen! "I'm not getting in it."

"You already did!"

I did seem to hazily remember sitting in one at some point, and freaking out, down the sidewalk. I don't know why I did that…. Why? Alright, that's a little disturbing, but I'm still not getting in that thing! I've already been, ah, _hit_ (such three silly little letters, caused so much pain and change….), my future torn from my grasp, humiliated and so many other things. Getting into that chair would just be the final insult, and I refuse to go there.

Somewhere, it registered that I was being childish. I'm thirteen years old, plenty old enough to suck it and up and get into the damn chair!

"Unwillingly." I reply, even though I really have no idea if that was true. "And I'm not getting in the chair."

Jason doesn't know the significance of it to me, but he seems to understand it's important in someway, and let's it go. "Okay, but what am I supposed to do? Drag you?"

I smirk. What a great idea. I hold out my arms and say, "It's been a while since I've last eaten."

So, I'm okay with being dragged by my little brother through hallways, picking up dust that Alfred somehow missed, but not with sitting in a dark, vile, evil, m-ahem, wheelchair. Go figuire.

Tim's sitting on the couch, watching something on TV and it's so much like Little Timmy(what I've been calling my...Dream Tim) that I have a sense of deja vu. He looks up when Jason walks in, dragging me with him, muttering muffled curses, then back to his show. Like it's normal. The show is some sort of cartoon, made for little kids. Pft. Child genius indeed…

Jason just leaves me laying on the floor while he sits on the couch, as far away from Tim as possible (which confirms that this is indeed Real Life). "Thanks, Jay..son." I mutter from my position on the ground, dragging myself onto the couch. Aren't I due for some Physical Therapy or something?

The cartoon switches off to commercials and I groan when I see it's some 25 Days Til Xmas thing. I almost bang my head with a pillow, or on the coffee table. IT'S NOT EVEN THANKSGIVING...TOO SOON FOR CHRISTMAS STUFF!

"Hi, Dick." Tim says, pressing mute. "Nice to see you're finally up."

Not that I had a choice. "I'm still wet," I say, scowling at Jason. "And cold."

Jason shrugs. Dude's already immune. (code red, code red, he is no longer effect by anger, code red, code red)

"You actually did the ice bucket?" Tim marvels at Jason.

Jason nods. Man of few words, that one. I wonder what's got his tongue. Usually he is full of so much snark that sweet, innocent Tim has to dive for cover. And he was more or less normal back with me. So what…

The TV commercial reflects of his eyes. Ah. I reach across, grabbing the remote from Tim and turns up the was too quiet in here, anyway.

"Shouldn't you guys be in school?" I ask Tim, because it's weird sitting next to him and both of us just ignoring eachother.

Tim shakes his head. "No, it's Thanksgiving break." Ah. Suddenly, I wonder what is going on back at my school. Are there wild rumors flying around? How much work will I have to do when I get back, what? Will I ever go back? What about Barbra, how is she doing? Oh mi god, Barbra! I can't believe I didn't think about her...oh no, she always gets so angry and hasn't visited (I don't think so, anyway, can't really remember). And what about Roy and Wally? They were there last Halloween night, and I haven't seen/heard from them since. How are they holding up? Is… I bit my lip, suddenly aware that I was clenching and unclenching my fist, too tense to be considered normal, and that Tim was watching me with wide eyes(Jason was still entranced by the wonderful commercials...Baby It's Cold Outside played from the TV). I forced myself to relax, straightening each finger as though it were a sticky lever.

"Ah, sorry about that." Tim didn't ask, and I needed to change courses, so I plowed on through. "How has school been treating you, though?"

Tim's eyes lit up. It was almost funny to see how he changed from a quit, shy boy to a loud, excited, noisy, optimistic one when he liked/was passionate about something. And he was definetly passionate about learning. "Oh! Mr. Daramus told Principal Nicholas that I could move up to third grade, even though I was kind of small and that'd be scary," Ah, height. What a sensitive topic. I sometimes just wish that Tim would learn that he wasn't small, he was funsized. ",but they knew I was smart enough! We're doing fractions right now though, and that's boring cuz I already knew em all, and…"

As Tim talked, I found myself drifting on the borders between Real World and Perfect World.t was actually kind of nice, with buzz of Tim's chatter in the background and squished beneath their bodies. I was woken, though, by Tim this time, who shook me. "Hmm?"

Tim sighed, crossing his little arms and a pout forming on his face. "Did you even heard a word I said?"

No. "Yes." I blurted without thinking. Hopefully it wasn't too important.

"So, what do you think?" Tim challenged. Oops, looks like it was important. Note to self:Think next time(if there is a next time). After all, Perfect World was calling.

I said nothing. Tim uncrossed his arms, perplexed by my new reaction, and leaned back against the couch. He'd probably store it in his head to analyze later. "I was talking about Post Traumatic Growth, Dick."

Like PTSD, except opposite? How did that even work, except in the movies? And...oh no, I know that look! I groan, using my arms to push myself away from him and his crazy lightbulb no doubt going on above his head. "There is no way I'm doing whatever you want me to do."

"You don't even know what I was gonna say!"

"Doesn't matter. I'm not doing it!" The last time I did, I ended up with a broken leg AND cleaning the batcave with a toothbrush. The time before that, it was in the Atlantic ocean and I got attacked by NotPorpioses. But I had learned. For such a sweet-looking kid, Tim could have some mean and evil ideas that had never, ever ended good. For me, anyway. Tim never got punished.

"Just give him a chance, Dickiebird." Jason said, still staring at the TV, which was advertising… pizza. And cookies. From Pizza Hut.

I inched away from him, too. This was their master plan, wasn't it? "Fine," I said anyway. If it pleases them. Still doesn't mean I'll do it. Whatever 'it' may be.

But, just then, the door opened from somewhere down the hall and I heard Bruce's footsteps coming. Looks like Wayne Enterprises doesn't give out Thanksgiving Breaks. Which is Bruce's own fault. In any case, I was saved by the b-er, door. Batman had swooped into save me.

Thanks, Bruce.

Jason hurriedly turned of the TV, and grabbed the closest book, which happened to be Blood of grabbed a piece of paper(that just so happened to have 2nd grade level fractions on it)and pretended to be writing on it. Oh. They're grounded, aren't they?

"Hey, Jason, Tim." Bruce said tiredly, putting down his briefcase and work coat/jacket on the chair. World's Greatest Detective hasn't noticed me yet. "What are you reading, Jason?"

"Um…" Jason checked the front of the book, only to see blank. Then he checked the spine, squinting. "...The Heroes of Olympus?"

"I didn't know you read Percy Jackson." Bruce said, the sides of his mouth twisted upwards. You're busted, Jason, completely busted.

"Um…" Was Jason's intelligent response. "I'm-I just started reading it."

"Starting backwards?" Bruce raised a single eyebrow. To an outsider, it would seem the civillian Batman was at ease, completely fine. But I've been around Bruce(and know enough about human bodies in general) enough to know the truth. The way his lightness was too airy, too forced to be true. The practiced smile, the tense posture, curled underneath, like he had the weight of the world on him. "Face it, Jason, I know you were watching TV. And you Tim-" His eyes skipped over, finally catching sight to my slouched position on the couch. "Dick!"

"Surprise." I said dryly. You're welcome Jason, Tim. Now you might not get punished for watching TV while grounded(I've been on the wrong side of Bruce's punishments to know).

"You're up!" He cried, and it's a very sappy moment. Bruce scoops me up in a feat of such Batman-ness I'm almost startled, and he's happy, Tim puts down his homework(to which he's already completed long ago), happy music starts playing, there's a flower background, everything's glimmering and going in slow-mo…

Oh wait. The last part(s) are just in my head. It would be kind of weird, cool and freaky if that actually happened.

But, still, it's all happy and junk, even though Jason complains that it's like "A scene from a bad chick flic."and it is. (Oh, well. There goes my movie career)

"What made you finally decide to get up?" Bruce asks, (like I was just taking a nap or something) after we're done spinning in a meadow with rainbows and sunshine and rabbits doing happy dances. Blunt as ever. I don't mind though. It's actually a nice change from buttery-popcorn-and-chocolatey-goodness NotBruce I've been getting visits from.

"Not by choice." I tell him, honestly. "I'm still wet." I am so getting back at Jason for that.

Bruce smiles, a real, actual goodness to real smile and I'm almost convinced that I'm back in that perfect little Dream World. But, I'm not. I know I'm not because I'm not numb. I can feel. And reality is messy. And wet. And cold. Did I mention that already?

And then I check: Is it the end of the world? Nope, doesn't seem likely, or things would be happening rigt now. We wouldn't be just standing around. Happy pills, maybe? That would be more possible, but then who and how were another matter…

Maybe he's just happy to see you awake and alive, a little voice, the one that provided me with all the childish hope, fear, innocence, stuff like that, Insquashed it down. Batman, have emotions? No way! Besides, I already crossed 'world ending' off my list…

That all lasted one second, my brain can, apperantly, be as fast as the Flashes when it wants to. So I fake smiled back at Bruce's geuine on. Our roles are switched. Huh. Didn't see that one coming.

That only lasted three seconds, and then I was done plastering LIAR all across my big fat face. And then something occured to me… "Hey, where's Alfred? And Damian?"

Looks of panic were exchanged all around. Uh oh.

"Damian's in taking a nap." Tim informed me solemly, though I had a feeling that was only half of it.

"Alfred's...out of town." Bruce said vaguely. Again, only half of it was told.

"You need to save us, Dick!" Jason suddenly cried, ducking behind me.

"From what?" I asked, trying to twist and see Jason.

"Bruce's cooking, that's what!" With a surprised yelp(or something...I have no idea what just came out of his mouth), Tim scurried to be next to Jason.

"Hey!" Bruce cried. "My cooking isn't THAT bad!"

"You burned down the entire kitchen boiling water," I informed him matter-of-factly. "And you can't even cook kraft mac n cheese, or eggo waffles. Yes, it is."

"Alright," Bruce relented, and I smirked. Me vrs Batman, who will win? Me! "Pizza then."

"Yay!" Tim ans Jason cheer. Alfred is great, I love him, but he never gives us the basic things children need. Like, pizza, chili dogs, burgers...good stuff like that.

"C'mon, Dick!" Tim calls.

"Okay!"

I swing off the couch, ready to absolutely CRUSH them in this race, only to realize too late: oh crap. SPLAT goes me-e. I just lay on the floor for a couple of seconds, shaking. A stunned silence falls lver the room, and I feel eyes on me, staring, but nobody moves to help me.

Just...just when things were going so well, I had to get up andgo ruin it. When, when we were all teasing Bruce, I actually forgot to be bummed by the numbness and the fact that I'd never fly again. I know, I know-not something to forget I didn't mean to. It was just...nice.. being complete, if only for a few seconds.

What I thought was reality before was nothing. This was reality, cruel and harsh like-bright crimson dots across my fingers, vision blurring, not another flashback, not now, not now-like the way the cameras flashed the minute they hit the ground, and posted all over the internet, The ways Jason and Tim were treated before they came to live with us and how people can just be so easily replaced. I'm laughing and shaking and crying-I'm not sure which, or if I'm doing all three. I'm completely mad, losing what's left of my marbles, like the Joker and all the other crazies we (used to) fight. Throw me in Arkham, Bruce? Or just drag me down to the batcave to rot under surveillance?

'But this isn't his fault, don't blame him!' The little voice that will always worship both Bruce and Batman cried. 'It's your fault!'

Know what? For once, it's right.

.

.

.

/flashback/

"Hey, pst, Wally…"I hiss from the vent, observing the party from the stripes of the vent.

The bearded teen(is he supposed to be a wolf or something?) jumps, looking around for the source of the voice. "D-Rob?"

"Yeah, it's me." He's still looking around, and I roll my eyes, still unseen, wondering how he'd survive the life if I wasn't constantly there to save his butt. "Up here."

Wally looks up, and finally sees me. "What are you doing up there? I thought you were doing something or other with Bats and Aqualad." Was Wally hurt by that? Yikes.

"Yeah, well,that got boring." I respond. "I was-"

"So come down and join the par-ty!" Wally interrupts, and some people look at him strangely.

"No, let's go do our usual thing. I've already convinced-"

"Blackmailed." Wally corrected, which was true, but I ignored that.

"-Roy, and now all we need is you!" 'Usual thing' being egging, TPing, all that good stuff for the entire night, then going off to California to trick-or-treat. We do that every year. I try the puppy dog eyes, even though it's less effective behind the mask. "Please?"

Wally sighed, finishing off his drink. "You've probably got some blackmail ready for me too, huh?"

"Yup."

"Alright," he concedes, throwing his empty cup into a conveniently located trash can. "Let's meet in Gotham, k?"

"Got it, just gotta go change." And, like the amazing badass ninja I am, I disappear. Poof!

It takes me no time at all to get to Gotham, change into my costume(_), but Jason catches me on the way out the door.

"Where are you going?"

I spun around. Crap, not fast enough. "Hey, Jason."

"I asked, where are you going? You didn't answer!"

"Out." I say evasively. "Shouldn't you be trick-or-treating, or something?"

"I'm too old for that kinda kiddy stuff." Jason eyes my costume, and bag(full of eggs and toilet paper rolls, but he didn't know that). "And I thought you would be, too, but apparently not. You should be ashamed."

"I'm not going trick or treating." Yet. I consider throwing the contents of the bag at him, then running.

"Oh?" Something like interest sparks in Jason's eye. I disliked that look even more than Tim's evil-genius face. "Can I come, too, then?"

"I'm going with Wally and Roy." I replied, hoping to discourage him.

"Even better! Wait for me, I'm coming too!" Fail. Oh well.

Looks like we're gonna have a stowaway on this mission.

/end flashback/

.

.

.

I must've blacked out, or something, because I woke up back in my bed, dry and warm. Outside the nearby window, the sun was shining, birds were chirping and it was a merry time in general, considering it was late November. Somebody sits on the Watching Chair(the chair people sit on when they watch me sleep/be unconscious), and I rolled over to see who.

Oh, hi, Tim.

Tim sits on the ridiculously oversized chair, a plate of food balanced on my lap. He was just sitting there, watching, which was kind of creepy. But, he is a stalker(er, was). "Happy Thanksgiving, Dick." Tim said once I was awake.

I didn't respond, just pulled the covers up more.

"I got you some food." He continued, holding out the plate. On it was turkey, mashed potatoes, cranberry, sauce, gravy….blah, blah, blah. All the classic Thanksgiving food, except XXL. I glared at it, as though the mashed potatoes did me wrong.

"'M not hungry." I said, brain slowly waking up and making connections. "Wait...is Alfred still 'out of town'?"

The six year old looked a little uncomfortable. "No, he's back. Never misses a holiday." Yup, that's our Alfred. "You should probably eat some."

It smelled so delicious that it woke my stomach up, making it cause war with itself. I pushed down the urge. No. No eating. Not hungry. "Or at least come downstairs and be with us." Tim continued.

I let out a bitter laugh. "No thanks. We all saw how well THAT worked out."

That caused Tim to look even more uncomfortable. "Dick…"

"No," I said, burying myself under the covers. "...thanks. I'm not hungry."

"Dick," Tim continued on, probably lecturing me about psychological benefits of spending time with those you love and eating enough(kid's too smart for his own good), but I tuned him out. I closed my eyes, welcoming the blanket that covered me like a warm, fluffy blanket. On the seashore. I was transported into the Perfect World in a matter of minutes, despite Tim's blabbering.

But, it just wasn't the same, somehow.

* * *

 **Aah! I really have no idea how to write young Jason(or Tim), so sorry if they seem weird or OOC. And the flashback scene was there because I just had to tie it into the canon. Yeah. That's that.**

 **Hope you had a happy thanksgiving and all! :D**

 **EDIT 12/3: Asterix(*)-And it appears everybody else did, too. Even me. Sorry about that, it's all fixed now though. :D**


	4. Chapter 4(part 1)

One bright, weekend-ish morning I am dragged out of bed.

THUMP.

THUMP.

THUMP.

Head, body, useless legs.

They hit the ground in that order.

I cracked open my eyes just a tiny little bit, wincing at the harsh light that beamed down on me like one of those megawatt spotlights. It was like being a vampire, and going outside for the first time on a bright, sunny summer day.

But there was a shadow cast across me(ha! literal metaphors!). I tilted my head back just a little to see a dark, shadowy man, about six feet tall w/ broad shoulders and lots of muscles. The man looked down at me with an angry expression on his face, fingers cracking as he balled his hands into fists.

Hi, Bruce.

I blinked at him and he blinked at me. Blink. Blink. He looked considerably worse since the last time I saw him. Hair dishevelled, bags under his eyes-which were bloodshot-and rumpled suit, which is saying something. Brucie's suit is never rumpled! Alfred makes sure of that.

"We're going to the hospital," Bruce announced in that dramatic way of his, and I nearly choked on my own upside-down spit.

Because, WHAT?!

I thought I was done with that place. It's chalky smell, it's perfect(not!) ceiling, the shrill company of the heart monitor and all the other machines whirring and clicking, all serving one purpose:to keep me alive. And the dark, bitter chocolate, crunching down and spiralling down down down into my soul.

But, apparently not. I needed to go back, for some reason. When I first got back to the manor, I wanted nothing more than to be in the hospital(as crazy as that sounds). But, now-seems like the place has grown on me, despite everything, just like four years before. The bed's comfier, at least.

"Checkup," Bruce said in a Batman-like voice. Whenever I heard that voice on patrol, it basically meant _Playtime's over, pal._ It also happened to mean danger (well, actually, it meant you're pissing The Batman off, but same thing) "Get up."

Large hands encircle my legs with room to spare, lifting me to my feet effortlessly. I gulp, glancing at Bruce's dark dark blue eyes. I know this is Batman, one of the 'good' guys, but it still freaks me out. How easily people can break me-flesh, bones, stuff like that-all Bruce had to do was squeeze, twist, snap the bone in half.

No, it doesn't take a car to take away the use of my legs. All it needs are somebody strong, and just the right tools. No, no, it doesn't take a large, speeding machine made of hard metal colliding into me. It only takes some hands and-bam!-I'm done for. I didn't need some kind of special accident that made the front covers to cripple. I didn't need that fancy SUV, I just needed a hand. And a bend, snap, more legs for that guy! I guess the whole experience was sort of humbling, in a horrible sort of way. I had thought I was invincible before all this. Like I was Superman, and nothing could touch me. But, really, two freakin' muscled hands(attached to arms, attached to…)to break me. And not even Bane's, either.

Bruce had tried to fire me as Robin before. (It didn't work, til now) He thought I couldn't handle myself out there, that it would be too easy for criminals to get to me. I had taken offense then.

But, now I see, he had every reason and more to be worried. How eye-opening.

How awakening this experience has been.

My arms drag the floor that hasn't been cleaned in years as Bruce sets me into the wheelchair, but I push myself out before I even touch the leather. I cling to his jacket, struggling to keep myself up. "No," I croak, glaring at the monstrous device. "I don't want to get into that thing. Don't make me. Please."

Jostling movement, a swaying back and forth uncontrollably as I flew upside down to a cursed black monstrous device. I glared at it.

"No," I whispered. My voice was croaky and hoarse, due to lack of use, and extremely quiet, too. But it got the message across. I didn't want to go near that thing.

The moving stopped, but I was still swaying annoying in the air. "No?" Oh, I couldn't see it, but I just knew Bruce had that frown on his face! The I-know-I'm-right-and-the-fact-that-you-think-otherwise-is-just-preposterous-but-I'll-see-what-it-is-anyway frown. (that is an extremely long name! And that's why I call it 'that frown'...)

I shook my head, which caused my body to spin like a swing with it's chains wrapped around eachother. Bruce grabbed my shirt with one hand, and I stopped spinning. Ugh, that made me sick. How much do I weigh now, anyway, if Bruce can hold my entire body weight up with one hand?

"I don't want to go in that...thing." I explained with my reluctant vocal chords. Bruce seemed to understand that. After all, he's the one who I got the stubbornness trait from.

"You know you have to get in it eventually, right?"He checks.

I feel a weight drop in my stomach. He's right, like always, I guess. I have the rest of my life to live out, if nothing happens, and I can't get around without a wheelchair forever. It's just not possible. But I nod anyway.

So he swung me onto his back in the form of a piggy back, and carried me down the stairs that way. I could feel this small smile on my face, and carefully gripped his broad, muscled shoulders. Piggy back rides have always been a special part of me. My father and John giving me piggy back rides, making these cool swaying movements and bopping up and down. Crawling onto Wally's back for a little ride at the speed of sound. Running down the halls w/ a shrieking Timmy on my back, clammy hands gripping my shirt and face…

I nearly smacked myself, if I hadn't needed both hands to keep myself from toppling down the stairs and making my already banged-up brain fly all over the place upon impact with notorious staircase. _The dream world isn't a real place, Dick, none of it ever happened._

"Where are you guys going?" A little voice piped up from below. Bruce looked down. I looked down, from my towering position as a giraffe up above.

Tim.

Hi, Tim.

The six year old stared up at us with those creepy Bruce-like eyes, playing with a small red fire truck toy. Ah, Just in time to see me ride piggy back like some a six year old. Three cheers for maturity!

"We're going to the hospital, for Dick's check in." Bruce, surprisingly, responded first. And you told me it was a check up, Bruce, a check up! Lies. The world is full of lies.

"Oh!" Tim jumped in excitement, the fire truck falling to the ground, excited like there was some kind of party and he was just invited. If 'party' was boring, depressing hospital shenanigans and an invitation was splattered across a SUV, then totally. "I'll go get Jason, and Damian! They can come, too! It'll be fun."

I hit my head onto Bruce's shoulder as a way of harming myself for this kid's stupidity. And here I thought he was smart…. News Flash, Tim! Hospitals are boring, depressing-ass places you never, ever want to go to! Ever! This...tragedy...isn't a comedy!

Bruce winced a little, but I'm sure he's fine. High pain threshold, remember? "Tim, I'm not sure if that'll be a good idea-"

But Tim was already gone.

POOF! Almost like the kid had magical abilities or something!

He was back an instant later with Jason and Damian in tow. Well, either magical powers or superspeed. If so, then Tim was officially the longest meta to ever be in Gotham.

"Great," I muttered into Bruce's dark, hairy hair. "Now all we need is Alfred, and it'll be an official family vacation to the hospital! Fan-fucking-tastic."

"Language," Bruce muttered back, but didn't disagree. Whcih is really just Batman's way of saying _I totally agree with you , but, for some reason, can't actually support you aloud for some odd reason._

"Tim said that we're going to the hospital!" Jason said, and even I could tell the smile was fake from my perch on Bruce's shoulders, embarassingly like a little kid.

"Not all of us," Bruce said, in defense of moi. Thank you, Bruce.

"But we want to!" Tim insisted, stomping his foot. His eyes watered and he stared up at us with eyes twice the size of what they were usually were and a perfect pout forming onto his face. I winced, knowing just who taught him that. Oops.

"It'll be really boring,"Bruce warned for me, but I could tell he was sold. Jason noticed me looking, smiled at me. I went back to hiding in Bruce's shoulder. I know this sounds childish, but I don't want them to see me like this. Broken, scared, unable to do anything and-dare I say it?-given up. Cowardly. I had never even danced with the thought of just accepting it, but now….I'm not sure. Maybe that's the real reason I don't want them in that terrible, dreaded hospital. You don't need to say it. I know it's selfish, but…

I peeked over Bruce's shoulder to see my brothers. They all looked up to me, once upon a time...for the first time, I'm almost convinced these notions aren't as selfish as I once thought. Just possibly. Maybe.

"Oh, alright,"Bruce says. I groan and mutter something into his shirt, where nobody can hear (which is probably a good thing). He never was one to resist puppy eyes. That, combined with a pout and he's done for.

Bruce is unmovable. You'll never win an arguement with him. Jeesh.

"Yay!" Tim cheers, dropping Jason and Damian's hands to do an odd little football touchdown dance...thing. A celebatory dance. Yay. Hospitals are totally a place you want to go for a family vacation. Move over Magic Kingdom, Gotham General's coming through!

"We're going with them, Damian!" Tim says, and he attempts to dance with the three year old. I roll my eyes.

"Yay!" Damian echoes, his shorter legs struggling to keep up with Tim.

Jason crossed arms, looking positively pensive and annoyed as the younger danced around him. "Are we going or not?" the ten year old asked.

"Yeah,"Bruce said. "Let's go!"

Let's not and say we did. But we did anyway, marching out into the cool December air. The air stings in my throat and makes my eyes water, and I'm reminded just how long it has been since I've been outside. When I was exiting that dreaded hospital. And now we're all going back. Before all this, I was outside all the time. Patrolling, climbing trees (and usually falling out of them when I was younger, where all those 'Dickie got hurt falling from a tree' excuse came from, even though I haven't fallen from one in years), playing trampoline soccer with Jason, Bruce's 'wilderness survival training', etc. But, now. I hardly ever go out.

Only when there's a hospital involved, I guess. That's actually kind of depressing.

There's a limo(to which I say, seriously?!)with Alfred standing by it, holding the door open like some kind of cheffeaur. He just raises an eyebrow when he notices the extras. "I was not under the impression all of us where coming along on this checkup, Master Bruce."

"Change of plans," Bruce says with a shrug. Yeah, an unexpected family vacation.

* * *

 **A/N: Because this has become so hard to write and it'll probably take another month-two months to write what I want to accomplish in this chapter, I'm just gonna split it into parts.**


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